


Hurt

by LeathernLaces



Series: Polaroids [3]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Depression, Dreams, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Masturbation, POV Daryl Dixon, Sad, Self Loathing, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Shame, Swearing, Tags Contain Spoilers, Worship, hurt without comfort, major angst, self-depreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14599848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeathernLaces/pseuds/LeathernLaces
Summary: Daryl's used to fighting. He's used to keeping the ghost of Beth Green at bay. During the daylight hours it's easier, around others it's easier. At night when he's alone and spent it's harder to fight. It's harder to keep her away. Sometimes, Daryl doesn't even fight at all.





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I am sorry.  
> Secondly, I am really sorry. 
> 
> This takes place in the WDWG universe. So that means this actually happened. However you DO NOT need to have read/or read WDWG for this fic. If you aren't familiar with my other series that will not impact how you view this particular fic. This works as a standalone just as well.
> 
> TW: The tags are no joke. I go to a very sad, pretty fucked up place here. Explicit language, self-hatred, and self-deprecation rule this oneshot. This is heavy. 
> 
>  
> 
> This has not been beta'd. Any and all mistakes are my own.

 

It’s a dream because he’s only ever seen her with those scars once. Once, for handful of minutes. She didn’t come out of that place with those scars – not alive.

  
Some nights he runs from her. As soon as she appears he finds himself and he runs. Whether it’s taking up a patrol or going out for some moonlight hunting – whatever he can do to keep himself occupied, Daryl does.

  
Then there are some nights when he’s so fucking tired he can’t run. He can’t even entertain the idea. Instead he lets it all wash over him like waves. Like he’s a drowning man who has finally given up the fight, accepting the sole outcome.

  
Just like that, she’s there. As soon as he gives in Beth’s right there with him.

  
Daryl knows it’s a dream and not a memory ‘cos for starters she’s got those scars. They’ve healed up and the skin is that molted pink. Sort of like a few of his. Aside from those, it’s still her. Still the same smile, there’s still that twinkle in those impossibly blue eyes of hers.

  
Then there’s the other thing. That other reason why he knows that it’s a dream is because she’s touchin’ him. Her slender fingers are running over his face, cupping his jaw. Normally this is about the time that he’d start running, if he’d held out that long. Daryl doesn’t run now, now all he wants to do is apologize

He wants to get on his knees and beg her for forgiveness.

His skin’s rough and dirty where as she looks and feels like she’s fresh out of the shower. Perfect hair, skin soft and glowing. Polar opposite of what he is. Feels like he should say sorry for that.

And for those scars. He should have found her sooner, fuck he should have never let her get taken in the first place. Should say sorry for that, too.

“Remember when this was shorter?” Her fingers gently tug on the ends of his hair. “Back on the farm. First time I ever saw you.” Daryl opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Beth doesn’t seem all that put off by it. The farm. What a goddamn shit show their time at the Greene farm had been.

  
The fingers slide down the column of his throat and his pulse jackrabbits underneath her fingertips at the touch. Suddenly he’s uniquely aware of where they are. It’s a bedroom somewhere. Not one he’s ever been in. Light up by a few carefully placed candles and a lantern. Moth-eaten quilt on the bed, mismatched cases on the pillows. Sorta looks like a cabin or something.

He can’t look up at her. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed and she’s in front of him. He can feel her looking, watching. Feels like when you step into the light on a sunny day. The warmth that just washes over you, that goes right to your bones. Daryl knows that it’s not the sun because he can see the fucking window, it’s pitch black outside. All that warmth – that’s her doing. “S’late,” His own voice surprises him when he finally manages to put two words together. “Should be sleepin’.”

  
He can talk, but he can’t look at her.

  
Beth’s hand stops on his shoulder. Her thumbs rubbing slow circles into the leather of the vest. “We spent all day securin’ the place, you need sleep just as bad as I do.” There’s a heartbeat and he dares look up at her through the curtain of hair that’s shielding his face. There’s that fucking smile. “Maybe worse.”

  
“Tryin’ to say something, girl?”

She shrugs. “I know you let me sleep instead of wakin’ me up like we agreed on.” Well, that sounds like something he’d do. Isn’t like he’s not used to it, half the time he can’t hardly sleep anyways. One of them outta get their rest. Not that Daryl thinks for a second Beth will buy that.

  
He lets out an indignant grunt. “Fine. I’ll be on the couch.” and just like that, the hand that’s worrying into his shoulder digs in. It’s just hard enough that if it wasn’t for the vest, he’s sure there’d be marks.

“No.”

The fuck does she mean no?

“You’re stayin’ here.”

The hell he is. His brain is telling him to get up. He’s bigger, stronger, retching out of her grasp wouldn’t be a thing but he can’t do it. “I mean it, Daryl. You aren’t takin’ the couch again. It’s too small and there’s plenty’a room on the bed.” Jesus- she sounds like she’s scolding a damn child. Might not be far off from the truth because he wants to stomp his feet and throw a fit because no. He’s not staying on the couch. “Plus it isn’t good for you back.”

Daryl scoffs. Just as soon as she says it he feels an uncomfortable twinge. Like his own fucking body is turning against him and taking her side of things. Whatever. Fine. They’ll share the bed. Girl’s like a goddamn dog with a bone anyways. Sensing his surrender and no longer feeling the need to hold him in place, she lets go. Immediately the room feels cooler, like clouds have rolled in and temporarily hidden the sunlight. Ain’t a feeling he really likes, if he’s being honest.

Evidently she’s got things to do because she moves to the other side of the bed without so much as a second word. Beth’s pulling that old worn backpack onto the bed and rifling through the contents. He doesn’t do much of anything. Just sort of watches her reflection in the window.

Which is all fine and well until he blinks and suddenly she’s peeling off her shirt and panic hits him like a lightning strike. She’s still got a bra on. Some little thing that’s seen better days. She’s not naked but holy shit it may as well be close enough. He shouldn’t be seeing this. The worst thing is, it’s not like she’s doing it on purpose. She’s just changing for fucksake. He can even seen that old long sleeved henley he’d found her. About three sizes too big but one she let herself slip into when they were safe enough to allow thoughts for something like pyjamas.

  
Beth’s about to pull the night-shirt over her head when she catches his eyes in the window. She must, because she freezes too. He’s expecting things to be thrown. Quite honestly, he deserves something to the head for fuckin’ looking at her like that (Not that he’d meant to – but still) feels like his eyes outta be burnt out of his goddamn head because he’s got no right looking at something like that. Looking at her like that.

She doesn’t reach for something to throw. Doesn’t look angry, honestly the girl doesn’t look much of anything outside of tired. “Sorry,” The fuck is she saying sorry for? “The other one’s too itchy to sleep in.”

Daryl almost laughs because that’s absolutely ridiculous. Her apologizing to him. He mutters something unintelligible to even his own ears. Beth pulls the shirt on climbs onto the bed, peeling down the layers of blankets and shimmying underneath them. “Come on, Daryl.” Beth says in that whiny pitch she has. Sounds like he’s keeping her waiting which again, ridiculous.

 

**\---**

 

He doesn’t get under the covers like she does. He runs too hot anyways, plus his boots are filthy and he’s not takin’ them off. Unlike Beth, he more or less just drops onto the bed. No preparations required. She seems fine with that though. Gotta count as a win to her because he’s on the bed.

Sleep is another matter.

The whole point of the bed thing had been rest, but he can’t fuckin’ do it. There’s too much noise in his head, and even asleep Beth’s distracting. There’s a voice in the back of his mind that sound suspiciously like Merle tellin’ him that he shouldn’t fuckin’ be there. In bed with a girl like that. Even that girl is fully dressed and tucked safely underneath at least four different blankets. God only knows how long he lays there and stares at the ceiling. Listening to the voices in his head, listening to Beth’s steady breathing beside him.

He keeps thinking about her touchin’ him. How she’d just touched his face and wasn’t the least bit put off by the fact that he hasn’t seen the business end of a razor in god knows how long. Dirt didn’t seem to bother her any, either. She touched like it was normal – something she does all the time.

Maybe, a little part of him supplies, like something she likes.

Isn’t that a fucking thought. Someone like her wanting to be near someone like him? Can’t be that though. ‘Cos he shouldn’t he a choice for someone like her for a whole list of fucking reasons. Ain’t like there’s anyone there with him. If she wants to touch someone, he’s her only option.

So it must suck to be her if Daryl Dixon is the best she’s got.

Thing is, she hardly seems to mind it one bit.

Daryl’s stuck somewhere between tryin’ not to think about how she’d changed right in the same room without a second thought (or warning) and the fact that he shouldn’t be in the bed when he hears it.

  
“You’re thinkin’ too loud.”

  
Fuck. Shit. She’s awake.

He doesn’t get time to blink before the mattress dips and Beth’s rolled over so she’s pressed against his side, resting her chin on his arm. “You were supposed to relax.”

  
Yeah, fat chance of that happening. Not with her so close. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

His face feels like it’s on fire and Daryl’s incredibly thankful a couple of the candles have gone out because Christ. He doesn’t want her seeing him blush.

He’s thinking about a lot. There’s no real one thing. It all seems equally important, and equally wrong. He’s thinking about how clean she is, inside and out. How somehow she’s still got that light in her that not even a bullet could extinguish. There’s the fact that she’s so warm, he can’t help but wonder what would happen if she touched him. Really touched him.

Would he burst into flames? Would he be struck down for letting himself taint so pure as she is? He shrugs half-heartedly. “Ain’t nothing.” And he prays to whatever the fuck is out there that’s enough of an answer for her.

  
“Oh.” Prayer answered, clearly. Something has his back. That’s a first.

She’s close enough now that he can see the shift in her eyes, the way her face falls. Looks confused as to why he’d deny her a thing. That’s just what he’d done – isn’t it? Denied her. Lied to her. “Maybe I should take the couch tonight-” She offers, brows furrowing.

Jesus Christ, no. All of the sudden she’s pushing herself up and then his arm shoots out, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t.” Just like that all the sudden he’s scared. It’s better in here, safer ‘cos he’s camped out beside her. If she leaves that gentle warmth he can almost feel reaching out goes too. He’ll be alone, alone and in the dark.

He’s spent so much time alone. So much time in the dark.

He doesn’t even know what he means when he says _don’t_. Beth must not either because she looks at him. Looks at where his fingers are holding her wrist, then up at his face. She can’t leave. She can’t.

“It’s okay-” It’s not. It doesn’t matter how honey sweet her voice is, it’s not okay. The idea of her leaving shouldn’t scare him. Shouldn’t leave a pit in his stomach. She’s not his, she’s never been his. Daryl’s never had anything that’s been his but this is what he imagine losing something like that must feel like. Absolutely fucking horrible. “It’s okay. I’ll stay if you want,” Yes. Fuck, yes he wants her to stay. It’s like he didn’t even realize just how much until she’d said it.

  
Beth sounds and looks like she’s dealing with some spooked animal. She was raised up on a farm, her daddy had been a vet. Plus it ain’t that far off. He’s always been like that, an animal. People always looked at him like he was one, treated him that way. He can’t let go of her now. Not even if he wanted to. It feels like if he lets go she’s gonna leave – whether she wants to or not. She’ll just vanish before his eyes like some sort of fucked up mirage.

His heart’s beating so loud in his chest that it’s deafening. Drowning out everything but her words. It even drowns out Merle’s voice. “It’s okay.” Beth repeats as she slips her knees underneath her, leaning in and placing her free hand on his face, caressing the leathery skin on his cheek.

She just keeps saying it. Every time she does, she moves a little bit closer. Closer and closer until her forehead is pressed against his and her lips are just a breath away from his. “It’s okay, Daryl.” Why the fuck does he shudder like she’d shocked him when she says his name like that?

It’s not okay, it’s not even slightly okay.

Then it is. The world around him explodes into colour and light and the sun is shining again and her lips are on his. The air has been knocked right out of his chest but it doesn’t matter. If he died right there it would be okay.

It’s soft at first. Just as gentle as she always is. When she pulls away it feels like a loss. It feels so wrong.

Daryl crushes her against his chest. She’s not expecting it because she lets out a little surprised yelp. He should care more about that. Catching her off guard, maybe hurting her, but he doesn’t. Because if he’d hurt her she’d let him know in no uncertain terms just how he’d fucked up. She’s got no issues sharing her feelings - the opposite of him. He doesn’t even know how to beginning feeling.

The way he kisses her is completely different. It’s demanding, the way he claims her mouth. Daryl lets go of her wrist but he trades it for a hold in her hair, fingernails scraping against her scalp. He shouldn’t be like this, shouldn’t be so rough, shouldn’t be taking a damn thing from her.

Daryl suspects he’s not so much taking it as she is giving it to him. If she wanted him to stop all she’d have to do was pull away and he’d be off her in a second. It might kill him but he’d do it.

Beth doesn’t pull away like she should. She doesn’t tell him to stop, doesn’t scold him like she should. She leans into it. There’s no fighting, there’s no no’s that he’s fully expecting to hear.

 

She’s on his lap now. Daryl isn’t sure if he’d pulled her there or she had taken the liberty of doing it herself. He’s always run hot – but he’s never felt so warm in his life. He’s never felt so alive. He’s also never felt so goddamn terrified.

“Daryl, Please.”

The words break him. She doesn’t have to beg, doesn’t even have to ask for anything. Whatever she wants she can take. Any part of him, all of him. Whatever it is because that’s the very least that he can do. Her hearts beating and that’s maybe the shock of all shocks. Beth’s feeling it too. Maybe not the same abject terror but everything else. That thrill, that need. It’s everywhere. The way her pupils are blown wide, there’s a quiver in her lower lip that he might have been worried about if it were not for the fact that she’s holding onto him every bit as tight as he is her. Like for some reason she’s worried he might not be real either. That he’s gonna leave if she lets go.

Which is crazy. Why would she care? More over, why would she think that? Wild-fucking-horses couldn’t take him away from her. Not again.

“Can I?”

Daryl nods dumbly. No clue what she’s asking for, or asking about. Something to do with his vest maybe because that’s where her hands have settled. She doesn’t even need to ask. Whatever she wants to do to him, he’ll let her.

He’s terrified and excited and a million other things at once. He should say no. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that this isn’t right for a whole plethora of reasons. For once in his sorry excuse of a life he doesn’t want to listen. It’s so easy to tune it out. She makes it easy.

She makes everything easy.

Beth works the vest off of his shoulders and down his arms. She’s so careful with it, in fact the pace she’s working at is almost agonizingly slow. Like she doesn’t want to wreck it or something.

He doesn’t know what comes next once that’s off. Natural progressions suggests his shirt. Feels like it should be his shirt. That way he can be closer to her, he can really feel her. When’s the last time he wanted to take his shirt off in front of someone? Willingly strip himself bare. Not once in his life had he ever done that because he wanted to. Not even his random hookups and one night stands. Nobody needed to see that, nobody wanted to see it. More than anything it would just kill the mood. Whatever buzz he’s forced on himself that particular night to get him through til morning.

It would be different with her though. Daryl doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. Everything’s different with her – why would this be the exception?

Wouldn’t be less scary, but she might not look at him like he’s the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen. She surges against him, just about catches him off guard too how insistent she is. The fact that there’s no hesitation when her tongue brushes against his. She breaks away and he lets out something akin to a growl only to see her tugging at the hem of her shirt. There’s no discussion about it.

He shouldn’t look, but god he wants to. Wants to so bad.

The bra had seen better days. Should probably find her something newer, cleaner. She deserves that much. Hell she deserves more than that, but they’ll have to take what they can get.

So sue him he looks. He’s never been a saint, and isn’t this what the world would except for a dirty old man like him anyways?

Only Beth doesn’t look at him like he’s some dirty old man. He’s not some dumb redneck in her eyes. He knows those looks – knows them well. He’s got no words to describe the way she’s looking at him now, perched on top of him in just her ragged jeans and a bra. All he knows is that it’s good. That’s gotta be why it’s so unfamiliar.

Her hands are on his shirt now. Her fingers may just melt the chipped buttons right off. She doesn’t move, but it looks like she’s about to the way she’s got them curled around the fabric. She’s gonna ask and doesn’t she know that she doesn’t have to?

His buttons are coming undone but when he looks down it’s not hers doing the work. It’s his fingers carefully popping them out of their slots. His hands are shaking so bad it’s a wonder he’s managing to pull it off at all.

Now the fun part. There’s a good fucking reason why any of his previous encounters didn’t involve a state of undress that was anything past his jeans and boxers being shoved down over his ass. They sit there for what may as well have been forever once he’s got the last button undone.

It shouldn’t feel like some big deal, taking off a goddamn shirt. But it does and it is. She gives him that look again. The one where he can just feel that she’s asking if it’s okay. He bows his head and nods. If she’s gonna do it, he doesn’t want to see.

She does. The old beaten up thing slides down his arms easily and onto the bed.

Daryl’d always tried to hide them from her before. That had been pretty easy, being on the road and having no access to runnin’ water; bathing had fallen by the wayside. Clothing was seldom changed. Usually he’d just pull a shirt with longer sleeves over whatever he already had on. He’s not sure she’s ever seen them, that she even knows.

Not that it matters because she’s seeing them now.

Beth may as well be frozen on his lap and it’s clear that he’s screwed up. Killed whatever this was because she’s probably lost her appetite now.

  
“Daryl?” Here it comes. “Look at me. Please.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

It’ll happen. She’ll say sorry and tell him to cover up, nice as a girl like he can manage. “Why?” Daryl’s voice cracks. It’s a rhetorical question because he already knows.

  
“Because I can’t kiss you when you’re lookin’ down like that.”

  
Yeah just like – _wait what_? She wants to kiss him? Now he has to look down to make sure the scars are still there because there’s no way-

Daryl looks up, blinking dazedly. Just in time to catch the way her eyes flutter shut as she leans in to steal that kiss. He’s not real sure that it’s stealing since his arms snake around her and something else is taking over. He’s giving it to her. Whatever she wanted, he would do.

He would try.

He’s not good enough. He’s failed her so many times. Everything bad that’s happened to her, it’s all on him. He’s not strong, he sure as fuck ain’t good.

He’s pathetic, weak, and selfish. He’s all that and more.

Beth doesn’t look at him like he is. She never has. Not before, and not even now when he deserves it. When he deserved to be looked down upon. Instead she’s sweet and gentle, as kind as she’s ever been.

That in itself is almost infuriating because she’s a smart girl. She should know better but when had she ever listened?

 

**\---**

He’s good with his hands but he isn’t good at this. Unless the actions involve violence, he’s complete shit when it comes to other people. There’s so much that he wants. Like for her shirt to come off, too. He’s gotten to sneak looks at perfection but that wasn’t enough. He wants to feel her underneath his hands. It probably wouldn’t even be nice for her. His hands are dry, cracked, crusted in dirt, blood, god only knows what else. For all intensive purposes he’s disgusting.

  
He shouldn’t want his hands on her as badly as he does. She shouldn’t want it, either. Shouldn’t encourage him the way she does. She shouldn’t take over for him when his fingers fail to undo strap of her bra. His hand jerks away like the fabric has burnt him on contact. Beth doesn’t seem to care. She unhooks it and it just falls. Or maybe his hands have finally stopped being useless hunks of flesh. Honestly, Daryl’s not really sure how the bra comes to slide off her arms but he is far past the point of caring.

  
Perfect.

Every fucking inch of her is perfect. She’s like a statue. Those carefully deities made of marble. She’s pale and smooth, virtually flawless. There could be a statue of her somewhere. Feels like there should be. The only difference between her and a marble bust would be the fact that she’s alive. Skin searing his, heartbeat fluttering in her chest.

What is Beth if not a goddess? She had beaten death, saved him. That might explain how unworthy of her attention he feels. Like to look at her, to even dare dream of touching her is sacrilegious.

What else is he – if not a sinner seeking redemption?

He should do it. If they weren’t on the goddamn bed he might just fall to his knees and clutch her. Press his lips to her feet and beg. He wouldn’t need to beg because she would be merciful, the most merciful of whatever fucking pantheon she resides in. He’d do it anyways.

  
“It’s okay.” Beth whispers. The kiss she presses to the underside of his jaw sends a violent shudder down his spine.

“You can have this.”

**\---**

“Beth, please.” He comes to with a gasp. Daryl pleads with the empty room. That alien feeling that he’s come to identify as pleasure is coursing through his veins. It’s not Beth there beside him, she never is. It’s his own hand that’s working his cock. In his head it’s Beth’s. She’s fading now, but he is too. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know what’s real and what isn’t. Beth wouldn’t be so rough. In his head she isn’t. Not ever, whereas he is downright brutal. Rushing towards the end. The faster he gets off, the faster the nightmare is over.

He can feel the familiar sting. Not the ache that’s growing at this core. No, his eyes. The feel of liquid as it tracks down his face. It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong. She’s leaving and he’s just – he’s fucking getting off to her memory.

It wasn’t even a fucking memory. They’d never done that. Never done anything close but he can picture it like it had fucking happened yesterday.

Daryl used to let go. Hope that if he denied himself it would just go away. It never did. Wanting her never stopped, it never died down. He squeezes, hard. His hips jerk and stutter as his back arches off the bed.

It’s so fucking wrong. That’s what he should be saying. Instead it’s her name that’s tearing it’s way up her throat. It’s always her name. Repeated over and over like a prayer. Like maybe she’ll call out to him if he says it enough. Only she never does.

It should feel like a lifted weight. Like a release. That’s what a fucking orgasm is. A release. He would be too fucked up for that. That something so basic as sex is twisted up and wrong for him. Only when he finally lets go his hand feels like lead as it drops back to the sheet. Daryl doesn’t move past that. The rise and fall of his chest is the sole indication that he’s even alive.

The tears flow silently. He does nothing about the quickly cooling mess that’s smeared on his stomach and hands now. It’s disgusting, is what it is.

Maybe it’s all he deserves. To feel like that.

What the fuck type of freak got off to dreams about a dead girl?

As if he didn’t feel enough like a piece of shit during every waking moment. This is why he runs, this is why he rushes through those gates at night like his ass is on fire. So that he doesn’t have to face it. The guilt, the shame, the pure disgust.

So that he doesn’t have to face her.

**Author's Note:**

> It got sad, guys.
> 
> I've never really written from Daryl's POV before. This is practice for me as I'll need to do more of this later on.
> 
> Thank you for reading. As always, every comment, kudo, all of it is appreciated more than you can know.


End file.
